Chapter Twenty - Five
Chapter
Twenty-Five
MALACHI
She walks in.
And I forget how to breathe.
The dress. Fuck.
She's wrapped in black fabric that clings to her like it was painted on, every line of her body on full display.
And worse?
It's sheer.
I see everything.
The faint lace pattern of her bra beneath the fabric. The long line of her thighs. The curve of her waist.
She has no idea what she's just done.
And when Elias smiles at her first, that easy, casual way he does, I nearly snap my glass in my hand.
Then she gives him a timid smile in return.
And I'm fucking seething.
This was supposed to be my dinner with her.
A controlled conversation. A chance to assert my authority, to ground her, to make her understand exactly where she stands.
Instead, I'm sitting at a table with Asher fucking Kane, Elias playing the mediator, and Gideon standing like a goddamn sentinel in the background.
The moment Asher opens his mouth, I know it's going to devolve.
"So, Sage," he starts, far too casually, "what do you think so far? Enjoying your stay in our luxurious prison?"
She stiffens slightly, her eyes widening as she looks down at her plate.
Elias shoots Asher a warning glance. "Don't antagonize her."
"Antagonize?" Asher grins, feigning innocence. "I'm just making conversation."
I set my drink down a little too hard. The glass rattles.
Sage hesitates, pushing her food around her plate. "I don't really know what to think," she admits quietly. "I'm trying to understand everything."
That's more diplomatic than I expected.
Elias sighs. "That's understandable. It's a lot to process."
I shoot him a sharp look. "You're not helping."
"I wasn't trying to," he says mildly.
Asher leans in, smirking. "What's wrong, Malachi? You don't like hearing that she's still coming to terms with all this? After all, you did spend a record-breaking amount of money on her."
I grip the edge of the table, rage curling hot in my chest. "I could have bid nothing, and she still would have ended up here."
Sage looks up at me, her blue-grey eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Warlocks don't ignore power like yours," I say evenly, locking eyes with her. "Even if I hadn't claimed you, someone else would have. Someone who wouldn't have given you the choice to sit here and eat dinner."
She flinches.
And then?—
Her fork clinks against the plate as she lowers it with a shaking hand.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and glossy, and her voice is quieter than I expect when she says, “So I’m supposed to be thankful?”
I narrow my gaze. “That’s not what I said.”
“No,” she whispers. “But that’s what it feels like.”
She tries to stay calm—I can see her biting the inside of her cheek, drawing in a trembling breath, hands clasped in her lap like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“I didn’t ask to be dragged into this. I didn’t ask to be bought, or… claimed. Or whatever this is.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and her fingers tighten around the fabric of her dress. “You all talk around me like I’m not here. Like I’m something to study. Or to use.”
I start to respond, but she shakes her head, more to herself than at me. “I’ve spent my whole life being quiet. Doing what I’m told. I kept my head down, followed the rules. And it didn’t protect me from any of this.”
Something in her fractures.
It’s like a dam giving way.
Her power surges out of her like a storm breaking over the sea.
Everything explodes.
The chandelier above rattles violently, the heavy silverware clatters against the walls, and the entire dining table flips over with a deafening crash.
Dishes shatter. Food splatters against the marble. Candles extinguish, sending smoke curling into the air.
And we all go dead silent.
Sage gasps, hand flying to her mouth.
She did that.
I stare at her, my pulse a thunderous roar in my ears.
Her power wasn't wild. It wasn't a flicker, a gentle breeze of energy.
It was raw, unfiltered destruction.
It was more than anything I've felt in centuries.
She stumbles back, shaking her head, terror in her eyes. "Oh my god. I— I didn't mean to?—"
No one moves.
No one speaks.
Even Asher, who always has a fucking comment, looks stunned.
Sage takes one look at our expressions, at the devastation around her, and her face goes pale.
And then she turns—and runs.
Before any of us can stop her. Before I can move, breathe, process.
She's gone.